


Bah Humbug

by mfdonut



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Blue Team, Christmas, Gen, Project Freelancer, red team - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 13:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9074743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mfdonut/pseuds/mfdonut
Summary: After the fight with the Meta, Agent Washington is visited by 3 spirits, who show him scenes from his past, present, and potential future. 
Written for the 2016 RvB Secret Santa exchange.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was a gift for friendlycybird on tumblr who requested something with a "found family" theme. I hope it lives up to expectations!

**Bah-Humbug**

 

**I**

“Damn dude, you really fucked up, didn’t you?”

Wash’s brain struggled to process. Epsilon was here in his room, projected onto his bed. The brief flicker of panic was alleviated by the realization that no, Epsilon was not in _his_ mind. Which meant either he was being projected from a great distance (doubtful) or that this was a dream. Because Epsilon was definitely not supposed to be here.

“Epsilon? You were trapped in the capture unit...I saw you. I… What are you doing here?”

 Epsilon’s avatar shrugged. “Look man, I don’t know. All I know is that you royally fucked up, and I’m supposed to send you on some kind of soul searching journey so you don’t end up like me.”

 “Trapped in a memory unit?”

 “I was thinking more along the lines of alone, isolated, and responsible for the pain of people who could help me, but yeah let’s go with that.”

 “I don’t understand. _Why_ are you here?” 

“So that you can confront your demons and become a better person. You know? The whole _Christmas Carol_ routine.”

“I can’t say I’m familiar with it.”

  
“Ah what! You’ve never heard of _A Christmas Carol_? What are they teaching you in Freelancer School?”

“There isn’t a Freelancer School.”

“Yeah, I know that, smartass. Look, you’re going to be visited by three more spirits, yadda yadda yadda, you learn some shit, you become a better person, whatever. Point is you’re in for a long night, so have fun with this bullshit.”

“Spirits? You mean other AI?”

“No, I mean spirits. Do I look like an AI to you? I’m a mother fucking ghost.”

 “Epsilon. You are an AI.” Wash said because Epsilon _did_ in fact look like an AI to him, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to do this whole routine _again_ with the memories of the first one.

 “Nope, I’m a ghost. AI me is currently stuck in the memory unit remember?”

That actually sounded right. “I suppose.”

“Exactly.” Epsilon's avatar looked around, “Welp, I think that’s my job done. You’re on your own now, Wash. Try not to fuck this up, okay?”

Wash opened his mouth to respond, but Epsilon had winked out of existence. Wash stared at the place where he had once been. Well, that had been entirely unexpected. He thought for a moment about trying to find the Reds and Blues to see if they could figure out what the fuck had just happened, but honestly, he was feeling entirely too tired. Maybe if he just curled up in bed, and closed his eyes, this would all turn out to be some kind of weird dream. He could deal with this when he woke up.     

 

**II**

“Agent Washington?” 

Wash grumbled and rolled over, doing his best to ignore his wake up call.

 “Agent Washington.” The voice was more insistent this time. Wash scrunched up his eyes before opening to see where the voice was coming from.

“Oh good. You’re awake. We must hurry. Time is of the essence.”

Wash sat up in surprise. “Delta? What are you--”

“Epsilon warned you I was coming, did he not?”

 “He said there would be ghosts.”

“That is correct. I am an apparition here to assist you in your moral development.”

Even when he was calling himself an “apparition” it was difficult to reconcile the idea of logical AI Delta proclaiming he was a ghost--which, Wash would like to remind the world, don’t exist.

“I can assure you I am very real.” Delta said, his green light shining across Wash’s face. “Now if you will come with me we have somewhere very important to be.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the past. There is a memory I would like to show you.”

“A memory?”

“Yes. Now please, brace yourself.”  The world around them began to shake. The walls of blue base began melting together and fading until they were gone entirely. Wash’s room was replaced by a much bigger, though equally familiar room.

Washington would know this place anywhere. They were aboard the Mother of Invention--the Mess Hall.

“How--Where are we?” Wash asked in disbelief, approaching the table slowly.

“That is a difficult question to answer. Though I suppose the easiest way to answer is to say we are aboard the Mother of Invention.”

“And _when_ are we?”

“Approximately three and a half years before the fall of Project Freelancer: December 25th according to the Earth Calendar.”

“I remember this--This was only a month or so after I’d been moved up to join the team. It was Christmas and South or York or Wyoming or someone had got a hold of some brandy...”

“That is correct.”

Washington approached the table cautiously. They were all there: a younger version of himself was seated towards the middle between Connie and Maine. Across from them sat York, Carolina, and North. South sat beside Connie and across from her brother. And beside them Florida and Wyoming. All of them alive, talking and laughing. They looked happy. _He_ looked happy.

He came around to where he was sitting at the table, looking transfixed at the Freelancers around him. “Connie,” he breathed, watching her face, her cheeks rosy with alcohol, “Oh my god, Connie. I’m…”

“She cannot hear you. What you are seeing is merely a memory..”

“Why are you showing me this?” Wash asked tearing his gaze away from Connie’s face to look at Delta’s avatar.

“Agent Washington, we fear you have lost perspective. I believe that this particular memory will provide you with valuable insight.”

There was a swell of laughter from the table, and Wash returned his attention to the conversation.

“For fucks sake, North you said you wouldn’t tell anyone!” South said, reaching across the table to punch her brother in the shoulder.

“I’m sorry, South! But you just made such a cute reindeer.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame you weren’t as cute as Santa.”

“Hey, I was plenty cute!”

At this point York was rolling. “Oh man. That’s beautiful. Any chance we’ll get a reenactment?”

“Shut the fuck up, York. Not unless you want to wear the antlers.” South shot at him.

“I think I’d look pretty good in antlers. What do you think, Carolina?”

“I think you think you’d look good in anything.” Carolina said, allowing herself a lopsided grin.

“And I’d be right.” York said, grinning.

“You’re so full of it.” Connie said, laughing. “I wish I could have done Christmas at your house, North. It sounds a lot more fun than our quiet family dinners.”

“You would have been more than welcome.” North said, “I doubt our parents would have even noticed one more person. They made a huge Christmas dinner; I don’t think we ever had less than 15 people.”

“What about you, Carolina? Did your family ever do anything fun for the holidays?” South said, attempting to direct the conversation away from her family.

Carolina sat back, taking a moment before she answered, “I can’t say my family was big on fun. I think we might have done Christmas a few times when I was little, but mostly I was raised Jewish. So we never really did Christmas at my house.”

“Holy shit, we’re getting Carolina backstory. It’s a Christmas miracle!” York said in feign disbelief.

Carolina shoved his shoulder. “Okay and I’m done. What about you, York? Want to share with the class?”

“Well, I never had much of a family to speak of.” York said. “To be honest, you guys are the closest thing to a family I’ve ever had.”

“York, the brandy’s making you sappy.” Connie teased.

“No, I’m serious! You guys are my family now, and I’m just, so happy to have you all in my life. And just know that I would do _anything_ for anyone of you.” He said emphasizing the syllables by pointing at each of them, “Even South.”

South flipped him the bird and North laughed and said, “Okay I think York’s had enough.”

“You did not really believe him at the time, did you?” Delta asked.

“What?” Wash asked snapping his attention to Delta.

“Agent York. You did not believe he was really including you in his sentiments.”

“No, I--I didn’t.”

“And how about now?”

“I think he really meant it. I know what he means. I felt very much the same way before…” He closed his mouth returning his gaze to the Freelancers. “Can we stay a little longer?”

And they did. Wash just watched them, drinking them in, doing his best to memorize every little detail. How had he never noticed that Connie had two little freckles on the back of her hand, or that South kept tucking her hair behind her ear, or the way that York and Carolina were always millimeters from touching. He looked at them and saw them in a way he never could when they were alive and together like this.

Washington didn’t know how long they stayed. It could have been half an hour it could have been three. But eventually the Freelancer party began to wind down.

“Agent Washington.” Delta said gently. “It’s time for us to return.” And just like that, the walls around them began to fade, and Wash found himself standing alone in his bedroom. Delta had disappeared completely.

“Delta?” When there was no response, Wash crawled into bed, curling in on himself and immersing himself in memory.

 

**III**

“Hello, Agent Washington. Are you ready for today’s exercise?”

Wash startled awake. He hadn’t heard that voice in years, and with her words it was if he were instantly transported back to the Mother of Invention. He shot up straight in bed fearing he was late. 

“FLISS?” He asked, looking around. Realizing he was not aboard the MOI and that it had been years since he’d been late to a Freelancer training exercise. His heart rate began to return to normal.

“I am sorry. I do not recognize the designation ‘FLISS.’ I am the Spectral Human Empathy Integration Learning Assistant. But you can call me Sheila.”

“Sheila?” Wash said. He didn’t really have the energy to argue. His subconscious was a weird place--might as well go with it. “Okay. And I take it you’re one of these ghosts too?”

“Affirmative.”

“Great.” Wash said flatly. “Are you going to show me a memory too?”

“Not a memory, Agent Washington. I have been assigned with something much more pressing.”

“More pressing?”

“Yes. I am tasked with showing you the present. Please follow me.”

“I’m sorry. Where are you exactly?”

“My apologies.” A holographic avatar of a battle tank appeared in the room. “Perhaps this physical form will make you feel more at ease.”

“A tank? You’re a tank?”

“I am a ghost. However, this physical form is determined by your subconscious. Perhaps you associate my voice with a battle tank for some reason?”

“I can’t imagine why. But then again my mind isn’t exactly a pillar of sanity.”

“Come along, Agent Washington. We don’t have much time.” Sheila’s avatar drifted towards the door of his room, and he followed her into Blue Base.

“Uh, when exactly are we going?”

“To the Christmas that’s happening right now.”

“Is today Christmas?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Huh.” Wash followed her into the Blue Base common area.

Both Red Team and Blue Team had gathered there. Red team was seated around the table. Caboose was sitting cross-legged on the floor, and Tucker stood beside him, leaning against the wall. Simmons was yelling.

“...and even if he doesn’t wake up, there’s no reason we can’t just leave his ass here!”

“I think you’re being unfair.” Tucker responded, looking at the floor.

“He fucking killed Donut!” Simmons shouted.

 “Yeah, I know! I heard you the first 5 fucking times you said it!” Tucker snapped back. “I’m not saying the guy didn’t fuck up. I’m not saying the guy’s not an asshole. But if murder got you kicked off of Blue Team, Caboose would have been long gone.”

“Not my fault--”

“Shut _up_ , Caboose!”

“I don’t think this is a Blue Team decision. He killed one of our guys. I mean am I crazy? Grif, back me up here!”

Grif leaned his chair back onto two legs. “I don’t really care. If Blue Team wants to make him their problem. I’m not going to stop them.”

“Fucking, thanks for the support.” Simmons turned his attention to Sarge desperately, “Sarge? What do you think?”

 “As much as it pains me to agree with Grif, I don’t think leaving him is a good idea either. These Freelancers are like cockroaches, always popping up when you least expect it! Almost as bad as Blues...Probably best to keep our enemies close. And if we can keep our enemies close by joining their powers together, more power to us!”

 Simmons looked between them as if they’d all lost their collective minds. “Fine! Fine. But when this all goes wrong don’t come crying to me.”

 “Yeah, yeah, you’ll be the first to say ‘I told you so.’” Grif said the front legs of his chair thudding to the ground.

“Well if Church doesn’t stay with us who will be my best friend?” Caboose said from the floor.

“For fuck’s sake!” Tucker shouted, throwing up his arms. “For the last time, he’s not Church.”

“Actually, I think he has a fair point.” Said Sarge.

“You can’t be serious.” Tucker turned towards him.

“If we leave him Blue Team only has two members, and that’s not much in the way of competition now is it?”

“While that is an excellent point, Sir, I’m not sure adding a psychotic ex-freelancer to their team is exactly a good way to even the playing field.”

“Yeah, and who knows if he’s even going to want to join up with blue team. Has anyone asked him what he wants yet?”

“Grif! You don’t ask prisoners what they want!”

“Well you usually don’t let prisoners join your team either. I’m just saying he might just fuck off and do his own thing.”

A contemplative silence fell upon the room.

“What do you think, Agent Washington?” Sheila asked, and Wash had the strangest sense of returning to himself. It was if he had just zoned out, but now that he had turned his attention to Sheila, the Reds and Blues had disappeared and they were standing together in his room again.

“About what?”

“About their dilemma.”

“I wouldn’t blame them in the slightest if they decided to abandon me, or...kill me. I probably wouldn’t be as generous as the they’re being. Simmons probably has it right.”

“Agent Washington, I think it is a mistake to believe that their decision is motivated purely by generosity. Blue Team has much to gain from your addition.”

“I’m not sure that they do.”

“Perhaps you should think about what you have to offer. Blue Team is in need of direction. You could help them.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“If I may make a suggestion? Perhaps the best course of action is simply to sleep on it. Just know that when you wake up you will be visited by a final spirit.”

“Another one? Seriously?”

“It _is_ a fairly repetitive metaphor. But lost causes such as yourself often work best with repetition.”

“I’m not a lost cause!”

“I hope that is true. Good night, Agent Washington.”

 

**IV**

This time when Washington woke, there was no voice--no noise to rouse him from sleep. Only the feeling of something watching him. He startled awake to see someone looming in the corner of his room. The figure was tall and imposing, he seemed to fill the small room. But Wash could tell from the set of his shoulders that this was not his friend Maine. This was the Meta.

“What are you doing here? Did Epsilon send you?”

The Meta’s only response was a rattling, growling sound.

“Are you here to show me something too?”

The Meta nodded slowly.

Wash threw off his covers and came to stand before the Meta. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

The Meta didn’t move for a moment. He seemed to consider Wash, tilting his head to the side, but then moved towards the door, gesturing for Wash to follow.

As Wash trailed him down the dark hallway, the walls of the base seemed to disappear replaced with open darkness. The ground beneath their feet transformed from a cold metal walkway to a dusty, rocky path.

They walked in silence, as Wash tried to make sense of their new location. It was nowhere he recognized, but the stormy sky above filled him with a sense of dread.

So focused on their new surrounding, Wash almost walked into the back of the Meta when he came to an abrupt stop.

“What are we--” Wash was cut off by the Meta holding up his hand to indicate he should be quiet, then pointed down a slope into a valley. It was almost as if they were standing on the rim of a small crater. Wash looked towards where he was pointing and froze.  

What he saw made his blood run cold.

The valley below was a picture of carnage. Six colored soldiers, still and unmoving: red, orange, maroon, pink, purple, blue. Only the one in aqua seemed to have any life left in him.

Tucker was kneeling amongst the bodies of his team, clearly on his last legs, propping himself up with him sword, and slowly bleeding out.

Wash was startled to see himself further along, standing on the lip of the crater, flanked by two soldiers, completely oblivious to himself and the Meta.

“You son of a bitch! You sold us out!” Tucker spat out.

“I’m sorry, Tucker!”

“Bullshit!”

“Honestly!” His counterpart sounded like he was trying to convince himself as well as Tucker. “I didn’t think you would fight!”

Tucker stared at him for a moment, before he began laughing, cackling hysterically, “Really? That’s the best you can do? You didn’t think we would fight? When have we _ever_ not fought back?”

“He’s got a point, y’know.” The shorter of the two soldiers beside him said. “They always were a bunch of idiots, never knew when to call it quits."

“I hope you’re fucking happy, Wash. Really, I do. I hope this is all fucking worth it. I hope...” But Tucker’s words were cut off by a choked noise, though Wash couldn’t tell if it was a cough or a sob.

“Yeah, I’ve had enough of this.” Said the shorter of the two armored figures. “Tucker, it’s been real. See you in the next life.”

Washington jumped, as the gunshot rang out and Tucker’s body fell to the ground.  

The other Washington was silent for a moment, his gaze unmoving from Tucker’s body, before he finally turned to the two soldiers. “Okay, I upheld my end of the bargain. Let’s get out of here.”

The two exchanged a look.

“Oooh, Washington. I’m so sorry. Did we not tell you? There’s been a slight change of plan.”

“What?"

“Well you didn’t really think we were going to split three ways what we could easily split two?”

“I don’t want a cut. I just want a pardon.”

“Yeah, well, you can’t always get what you want, can you?"

  
Wash watched in horror as his counterpart raised his gun, but not fast enough. The tall silent partner, had already fired, and the Washington on the ledge dropped like a stone.

The lump in his throat tightened, as panic raised in his chest. This was all too much. He had to get out of here. Wash turned to the Meta. “We have to leave now. Please! Can we please leave?”

 

**V**

Wash sat bolt upright in bed. He was disoriented and covered in sweat. His eyes landed on Tucker, dressed only in his kevlar under suit, sitting in a chair at his bedside.

“Tucker!” He gasped. “Tucker, you’re alive!”

“Of course I’m alive, dude. It’s going to take more than the Meta to take me out.”

“Is it still Christmas?” Wash demanded.

Tucker looked at him like he clearly thought he’d lost it. “Dude, it’s August.”

“It’s not Christmas, but I thought...?”

“Yeah, you’ve been pretty out of it for the last day or so. We think it was probably some kind of infection from your injuries? But, seriously, we thought you were going to kick it for a while there.” Wash stared blankly at him for a moment, so Tucker continued. “After the fight with the Meta? Do you remember?”

“I...Yeah. Yeah, I remember.”

Tucker looked relieved at that. “Okay good. Are you hungry?”

Wash thought about it for a second. “Yes, I am actually.”

“Okay cool. I’ll go get you something to eat. Why don’t you lie down and rest while you’re waiting. I’ll wake you up when it’s ready.”

“Alright.” Wash agreed. Settling back down on his pillow. His head still felt incredibly foggy, but the logical part of him was already starting to catalogue what was going on. That had been one of the most vivid, bizarre dreams he’d had in a long time (which was saying something for him), and yet it was already starting to fade around the edges.

  
Still the feeling of seeing the Freelancers again, of hearing the Reds and Blues argue about his fate, of watching a mercenary put a bullet through his head after killing Tucker sat like a lead ball in his stomach. Here in the world of the waking, it felt so distant, and yet Wash couldn’t help feel that there was a real warning in what he saw. But maybe, there was hope for him yet.


End file.
